


Barba's Breakdown

by adrianna_m_scovill



Series: Create Your Own Context [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: This is a short, "Create Your Own Context" scene to fulfill a request for Benson consoling Barba.





	Barba's Breakdown

Barba looked up at the light knock on his office door. Before he could say anything, the door opened and Benson poked her head inside.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

Barba swallowed and quickly cast his gaze back to the paperwork on his desk. “Hey,” he answered.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered without looking up.

“I didn’t see Carmen,” she said, walking in and closing the door with a soft click.

“No, I sent her home. She was being too…” He trailed off, waving his hand in the air in a quick gesture. He was staring at his desk, but she could see that his eyes were unfocused. She watched him draw a slow breath.

“Barba, I just heard,” she told him, quietly. “I’m…so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, blinking his eyes and frowning down at the file. “I just have a lot of paperwork to get through.” She walked toward him, and he glanced up at her and quickly away. “Did you need something?” he asked.

“I just came to see if you need anything.”

He shook his head and pointed toward the papers. “Like I said, I just—”

“Rafael,” she said, quietly, and he stopped, swallowing again. “That can wait. You should go home. Do you want me to give you a ride?”

He was quiet for a long time, barely breathing, not looking at her. Finally, he said, his lips barely moving, “I don’t want to go home.”

“Tell me what I can do,” she said.

She saw his expression tighten, and his chin begin to wobble. He clenched his jaw, rubbed his lips together, and sniffed, and his features were once more controlled. After a moment, he looked up at her. His expression might be neutral, but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

She was at the edge of the desk. “That’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it. Do you…want to be alone…?”

He chewed his lip for a moment and gave his head a little shake. She could see the tears pooling in his green eyes, and she could see him struggling to keep them back. She sat on the edge of his desk, her knee almost touching his, and put a hand on his shoulder. He pulled in an uneven breath and closed his eyes.

“It’s just you and me here, Rafa,” she said, her voice soft.

His face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands. He sat with his elbows on the desk, hands over his face, shoulders hunched high, with his breath trapped in his chest. He was frozen, not moving, not breathing, holding himself together by a sheer force of will. She’d never seen him like this, and she wanted nothing more than to take away his pain. She rubbed his shoulder and could feel him trembling.

“Let it out, Raf,” she murmured.

He exhaled a strangled sob, and she moved on instinct—she stood and put a hand on his head, and he turned toward her, reaching with a desperation that broke her heart. He grabbed at her, and she wrapped her arm around his head as he buried his face against her stomach, choking back another sob. With her other hand, she rubbed his back. Her own eyes were burning with unshed tears. She could feel his whole body shaking.

“It’s okay,” she cooed, rubbing his back. “I’m right here, I’ve got you,” she said, barely aware of the words leaving her mouth. He was clinging to her like a drowning man, his ragged breaths heating the front of her shirt. She ran her fingers through his hair.

“Liv,” he said against her shirt, his voice cracking.

“I’ve got you, Rafael,” she said, and he started crying. She held onto him as the sobs wracked his body, as his tears soaked the front of her shirt. She kept a hand cupped to the back of his head, her fingers in his hair, and she cried with him. He couldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks, and she kept her breaths shallow so he wouldn’t know. She wanted him only to feel her strength, her support, and know that he was safe and loved.

She stroked his hair, rubbed his back, and murmured words of comfort until he gradually quieted, until his tremors lessened. His hands were clutching the back of her shirt, but finally, as he drew in a watery, shaky breath, she felt his fingers loosen. He turned his face downward so that the top of his head was pressed against her damp stomach, and he pulled in another breath, steadier. His hands had moved to her waist and settled there briefly, but she could feel him readying himself to withdraw.

She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to piece together the broken shards of his heart for him, but she knew she couldn’t take away his pain. All she could do was hold him and hope he could find his way through the pain. Finally, he sniffed and let his hands drop away. When he pulled his head back a moment later, she drew her fingers from his hair with reluctance.

His face was red, splotchy. His eyes were wet and bloodshot. She reached over and grabbed a box of Kleenex, holding it toward him. He grabbed one and wiped his nose before tossing it into the nearby trashcan. He took a deep breath and held it for several seconds, releasing it slowly. And, finally, he looked up at her. The lines of grief were etched deeply into his face, and she brushed the damp hair back from his forehead with gentle fingers.

“I’m—” he started, his voice raw, but he stopped when she shook her head. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort, and sniffed again. The pain was still there, burning in his eyes, but he was in control of himself. He looked at the tear-soaked front of her shirt and winced, but he didn’t attempt another apology. He knew she wouldn’t accept it.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” she said, quietly.

He gave his head a little shake, and peered up at her, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. “It’s too…quiet, and—”

“Not your apartment,” she told him softly, holding his gaze. His face tightened and fresh tears shimmered in his eyes, but he kept them from spilling over. “Come on,” she said, rubbing his shoulder, and after a moment he nodded, getting to his feet. He looked at her and hesitated, biting his lip. She reached out and pulled him into a hug. He put his face against her shoulder for a few seconds, breathing in her comforting scent as they held each other.

When he started to draw away, she put her hand at the back of his head and leaned forward, pressing her lips against his forehead. When she pulled back, their eyes met and held, and he offered the ghost of a smile.

“Come on,” she said, again, holding out a hand. He looked down and snaked his fingers between hers, and she led him out of his office.


End file.
